


Use Two Hands, Never Let Go

by agent35



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Frank Jr. (mentioned), Karen Page's Backstory, Karen is getting good at stitching him up, Karen takes care of Frank, Kevin Page (mentioned), Lisa Castle (mentioned) - Freeform, Maria Castle (mentioned) - Freeform, frank castle is a softie, frank castle lives on coffee, injured frank, lets pretend they actually talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 19:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12153150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent35/pseuds/agent35
Summary: "As she suspected, she found Frank Castle in her kitchen. Most people would have been terrified to find that a vigilante, a convicted murderer—one who had shot at her no less—had broken into their home. But Karen was not most people — she didn’t know if she was brave or stupid, or if she fell somewhere in-between."Karen Page finds Frank Castle sitting in her kitchen after a long day at work with coffee in hand. Max the dog is there too and he loves Karen with his entire heart. Frank brings Karen leads and Karen patches him up in return. They both try to be more open about their past and their feelings.





	Use Two Hands, Never Let Go

When Karen Page stepped into her apartment, she knew that there was an uninvited, although not unwelcome, visitor inside. She shook the rain out of her umbrella, trying to get as much of the water off as she possibly could. She wasn’t in the mood to clean up a mess. She opened the door to her new apartment and closed the door behind her. It was so different from her other apartment. The biggest difference? The size. The most important difference? She felt safer there. Maybe not completely safe, she never really felt completely safe anywhere anymore, but it was a start.   
  
Karen stuck her umbrella in the umbrella stand as she walked in and locked the multiple locks on her door. In her last apartment, she would just lean it against the door, not caring about the drops of water that would fall and pool together below it. She knew it would have infuriated her mother and it might have been a little part of why she did it. Karen knew though that it was something she had to fix in her new apartment, because when she let them visit, she couldn’t listen to another one of her mother’s lectures about respect and responsibility because “you don’t own the place, Karen Page!” And she had let them visit her now, she couldn’t really blow them off anymore because all she could offer in return for their help was to sleep on the couch while they visited. They had been trying to send her money since she left Vermont to go to New York, but she had never accepted it. She had told herself that she didn’t need their guilt money. The money that was just an apology for the fact that they had shut down and ignored her after her brother died. No. She didn’t need that... Until she did. Until she had been shot at by The Blacksmith and the bullet holes haunted her little one room studio apartment. It loomed over like a dark shadow, when in reality it was the opposite. It was the brightness of it all. The way that the plaster that she had used to cover the bullet holes was stark white against the walls that always appeared slightly more yellow. No matter how many coats of paint she applied, somehow the plaster would always show through. Foggy told her so many times that he couldn’t see it. He suggested that her mind was just playing tricks on her, that the image of the bullet holes in her walls was superimposed into her mind and she couldn’t unsee it. He was the one who suggested that she find a new apartment. He knew she was shaken up. He knew she wasn’t okay. She was just tired of being used for target practice.   
  
Foggy was also the one that had helped her find the new apartment. It was out of her budget, but everything was out of your price range when your budget is approximately zero dollars. Karen knew she wasn’t going to find anything better than what she had, or at least something in a safe neighborhood in her price range, so she had caved and accepted her parents’ money. Hell, they were doctors they could afford it! And suddenly her dream apartment, the one in the link that Foggy had sent her a few months ago while she was at work, was in her budget.  
  
She had opened the link and her breath was taken away. It wasn’t the nicest apartment, but it checked off all of her boxes. The bedroom was separate from the living room. The living room was separate from the kitchen. There was a real bathroom that she wouldn't get claustrophobic in. And most importantly, the building had a security system. There were cameras on every door in and out and there were no bullet holes in the walls. It looked like home, she thought. She could already imagine making the place her own.  
  
Frank had gone with her to look at the apartment. She had come home from a long day to find him in her shitty one room apartment, making himself at home, sitting on her bed with his feet up on her comforter. Normally she would have yelled at him for putting his dirty shoes on her bed, but she didn’t even care. She had rushed in and blabbered on and on about the apartment that she was going to go look at the next day and, honestly, she still wasn’t sure who was more shocked when Frank offered to go with her.   
  
“To check out the security, of course. Just trying to keep you safe, Ma’am.” She nodded. Just to check the security. Of course.  
And, he went with her. They showed up together the next day and he pretended to be her boyfriend. He lied to the landlord with such ease. He told the man that he was a Lieutenant in the Marine Corps—which wasn’t really a lie—who was going back overseas soon and he just wanted to make sure that his beloved girlfriend would be safe while he was gone. Karen’s heart had skipped a beat and for a moment she swore she couldn’t breathe. Hearing Frank call her his girlfriend and feeling his arm slip around her waist, she was just happy that he didn’t share the same skill set at Matt. If he could have heart her heart beating erratically in that moment she was sure it all would have been over. He would have run for the hills, but he didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. He continued chatting up the landlord. He lied with such ease and the man was so touched that he not only gave them a discount because of Frank’s military service, but also quoted them a lower price than was listed on the website. Karen’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. The landlord told her that he wouldn't accept any offer but hers until the next day, if she wanted. She was his favorite applicant, he said, and it wasn’t often that he found tenants he really liked. Karen didn’t take even a moment more. She committed right there in the little entry, on the spot, with Frank’s arm still wrapped around her.   
  
She stood in the same entry, months later, smiling at the thought. She shrugged off her coat with a little shiver. She leaned over and turned up the heater a couple of clicks, and set the alarm next to it before she moved to hang the coat up on the set of hooks in the entry by the hallway that led to her bedroom. Instead of just the usual handful of jackets that never got put away, she also found a large, black military jacket, and she wouldn’t help but shake her head. She turned to the other wall and looked down to toe off her shoes and line them up with the others, a couple pairs of heels, a pair of running shoes—all had lost to other long days where she had taken them off at the door with the intentions of putting them away later, without any follow through—as well as a pair of gigantic black combat books that made her heels look tiny in comparison. She smiled at his shoes for a second, catching it and taking a moment to compose herself before making her way into the kitchen.   
  
As she suspected, she found Frank Castle in her kitchen. Most people would have been terrified to find that a vigilante, a convicted murderer—one who had shot at her no less—had broken into their home. But Karen was not most people — she didn’t know if she was brave or stupid, or if she fell somewhere in-between. She could feel her heart skip a beat and her smile made its way back onto her lips. He was sitting at her tiny kitchen table reading the newspaper, but he stood as she entered the room. After the jacket and the boots, she had expected to find Frank making himself at home in her new apartment. It wasn’t uncommon to find Frank on her couch or sitting at her kitchen table with coffee in hand. What she hadn’t expected to find was Max. She was overjoyed at the sight of him sitting on Frank’s feet as his owner settled against the counter. His tail was wagging a hundred miles an hour and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. He had taken a liking to Karen immediately, and she had to admit that she was just as captivated by him and his puppy dog eyes. The first time Karen met Max, she had showed up at his apartment unannounced. She had let herself in and Frank had to pretend to be mad when he walked in to find that with no introduction, Max was sitting on her lap licking her face and wagging his tail. “Damn dog,” he had mumbled, pretending to be annoyed, “what part of don’t let strangers in the apartment do you not get?” But secretly he had been glad that Max loved Karen. He would have been heartbroken if his dog didn't care for the reporter as much as he did. Karen had looked over at him with slobber on her face from all of Max’s kisses with her hair in disarray, sticking up in every direction where Max’s tongue had strayed from her face, into her hairline. And damn his heart. It felt like it skipped a beat, contracted, and failed all at once. She looked beautiful sitting there among his guns and ammo with his dog in her lap, smiling up at him. Casual Karen was his favorite Karen. As beautiful as she looked coming home from work sporting a pretty dress or a pencil skirt, he loved it when she was comfortable, wearing pajamas or casual clothes. It wasn't because he was one of those guys who ran around and told women they looked better without makeup, but because she always seemed to look happier and it was her preferred attire for their late-night conversations. And seeing her like that, happy and carefree with Max in her lap, wearing leggings and a sweater, Frank was done for.  
  
As she walked into the kitchen, Frank still hadn’t looked up from the paper. His brow was furrowed and he looked like he was concentrating with everything in him on the article in his hand. If he hadn’t stood up right when she had entered, ` she would have sworn that he didn’t hear her come in. That is, until he extended his arm toward her to hand her a still steaming cup of coffee. Her hands were freezing from the rain outside and the heat radiating through her favorite mug was almost therapeutic. He always remembered which one was her favorite, the large mint-colored one with the chip in the rim. She even suspected that sometimes he washed it when he made coffee and the cup had taken up semi-permanent residence in the sink. She took a sip and smiled. It was a little sweeter than she liked, a little too much sugar, but she didn’t tell him. He was a coffee snob and he always tried his best to make sure he got it right. And it was hot and close enough to how she liked it, so she just hummed in enjoyment before giving him the look that she always gave him when she teased him.   
  
“Someone better call the police. A dead man broke into my apartment.” Frank cracked a little smile and took a sip of his own coffee, leaning back against her counter. She thought it was kind of a hilarious sight; Frank Castle in her kitchen, as bruised as usual, drinking out of a Scooby Doo mug that had been a gift from her brother, with Max seated right on top of his feet. Since her brother died, she hadn’t let anyone else use it. Usually it sat in the cabinet and she looked at it every morning, but didn’t take it out to use it because it was from Kevin. It was hallowed ground amid all of the other cups, plates, and silverware that she didn’t give a shit about. If she used and she wasn’t having a great day, she risked breaking. She didn’t use it unless she really missed him and she could curl up and let herself cry, or if it was his birthday. If someone else even touched it, they weren’t careful enough and it gave her an anxiety attack every time. But first time Frank saw it, the first time he picked it up was while he was helping her do the dishes, telling her all about a new lead. He was washing and she was drying and putting everything away because he insisted on helping. “Ma’am I ate dinner too but I don’t know where anything goes so unless you want your shit in random cabinets—” He hadn’t even finished before she threw him the sponge and told him to get started. In reality, she was happy for the help because she didn’t mind drying or putting away but she hated washing nasty, slimy dishes and he really didn’t seem to mind. He even hummed while he worked sometimes, which she loved. But then he saw the mug. He picked it up so gingerly with his soapy hands and Karen’s heart skipped a beat. She wanted to snatch it out of his hands but something in his face made her freeze. He set it down for a moment, dried his hands on his shirt, and picked it back up. He looked at it with such admiration. He didn’t even know the story of the cheap little mug; hell, she wasn’t sure if he knew that she had a brother, let alone that he had died. It wasn’t really something that Karen advertised or something that came up in casual conversation very often. But he looked at it the way Karen wished everyone would. Like he knew what it meant to her. Like it was just as precious to him as it was to her.   
  
“This was her favorite,” he had whispered in a voice that was gruff and gravelly like it usually was, but also somehow soft and almost delicate. He turned the cup over in his large hands. Over time they had forgotten how to be gentle and tender, but it was like he was learning all over again in that moment. “Lisa’s. It was her favorite. She loved Scooby. Always wanted a dog named Scooby and wanted to grow up to be like Velma and help people. My little girl, she wanted to be smart like Velma and solve all the world’s problems, that’s what she always told me.” It was a melancholy moment. Happy to remember, but sad at what could never be. He smiled at the little picture of the five cartoon characters and brushed his fingers against Velma with her arm leaning against Scooby.   
  
“My little brother and I used to watch it together all the time when we were younger.” She paused for a moment before continuing, choosing her words as if she were walking on broken glass. “When you talk about her, it reminds me of him. I think they would have been friends.” And Frank had smiled a real, genuine smile that she had returned. She knew that he was starting to enjoy talking about his family, but sometimes he would shut down after. He was talking about them more often and she loved that he trusted her enough to share with her, even if they were just making baby steps.   
  
After that, she always gave him the Scooby Doo mug. Kevin would have been happier that way, she thought. He would have been excited to know that not only was it being used, but it was being used by none other than Frank Castle, The Punisher, himself.   
  
~ ~ ~  
“Do I look dead to you, Ma’am?” Karen snapped out of her thoughts and looked up from her coffee to study his face. Bruised? Always. Injured? When wasn’t he. Dead? Not quite yet.   
“No, but don’t tell my boss that. I’m banking on the fact that I can milk a few more stories out of your ‘death.’” She joked, setting her coffee on the counter beside him before kneeling to greet Max. His tail had been wagging before, impatiently waiting for her to notice, but her sudden attention sent him into overdrive and his entire rear end wiggled as she knelt to pet him. She talked to Max a bit, as always, asking him if he was a good boy, scratching that one spot behind his ear that he loved so much, and planting gentle kisses on the top of his head. He, of course, returned every kiss and Karen couldn’t help but laugh, wiping away slobber with her sleeve. Frank stood back behind her, quietly chuckling. He loved watching Karen and Max. Max had been a watchdog for the Irish mob his entire life and they had beaten, abused, and neglected him. Seeing Karen petting him gently, showering him with kisses, and giving him all of the love he knew Max deserved, it warmed Frank’s heart.   
Karen stood up suddenly, losing her balance, and took a step to steady herself. Her nose was dangerously close to his sleeve and if she were any closer her body would be pressed against his. She could smell the lingering scent of gunpowder and his deodorant. It was oddly comforting. She looked up at him with flushed cheeks. Both of them were taken aback by their sudden proximity, but neither of them moved until she tapped his arm and motioned for him to scoot over. He noticed the slight blush on her cheeks that made his heart flutter, but he said nothing. He just took a couple of steps in the direction that she had pointed.  
  
She gave him a smug, mischievous look before pulling out a large bag of dog treats. Frank couldn’t help but laugh because Karen Page who didn’t have a dog and on her limited income, had gone out and bought an entire bag of treats just for his dog, even though he brought food and treats when Max stayed over. He laughed because he thought he finally understood a bit more of Karen Page, he was seeing just how big of a heart she really had.   
  
“Maxie, do you want a treat?” She held it up and he sat down reflexively, drooling, whining, and wiggling his butt until Karen gave it to him and he ran off to scarf it down.   
  
“Ma’am, you’re spoiling my dog rotten.” He tried not to smile or look too happy about it, but he failed. There was something about her that brought out that side of him that he thought had died that day in Central Park. And he smiled even though his face was so bruised that it hurt every time.   
  
“Shut up, Castle. He deserves it. Don’t you, Max?” Max didn’t even look up. He was busy licking the floor to make sure he got every single crumb. Karen motioned for Frank to follow her as she walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Max followed them and ran straight for the bed that Karen had bought for him and put in the corner of the living room. Karen picked up the oversized sweatshirt that had been carelessly draped over the back of the couch and pulled it over her head. Frank stared for a moment. A split second. It was so large on her petite frame that if he didn’t know better, he would think that it belonged to someone else. His mind drifted a bit to a place that he swore he would never let it, and for a moment he imagined her pulling his sweatshirt over her head and sitting on the couch together in each other’s arms. He stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, hating himself but loving every moment of it. He snapped out of it when she spoke, “So, what are you doing here, Frank?” He made his way over to the couch where she patted the cushion next to her, but he kept a little distance between the two of them.  
  
   
“Max missed you.” They both looked over to Max who had flopped down on his big bed with his back to them. Karen couldn’t help but smirk. She supposed there was probably some truth to what he was saying. Frank had begrudgingly told her multiple times that Max got mopey and sad and sometimes even refused to eat until Frank brought him over to see her. But Karen noticed how Frank couldn’t even look in her direction when he said that it was just the dog who had missed her. And she suspected that it wasn’t just Max, just like it wasn’t just Max that she had missed.   
  
“Just Max, huh?” Frank looked a little sheepish, but he said nothing. He shrugged and took another sip of coffee to hide his face. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. The Punisher doesn’t blush. “That’s okay. I didn’t miss you either, Frank. I only missed Max.” They both heard the steady thumping of Max’s tail and when they looked over at the gray pit-bull he hadn’t moved. His entire body was still facing away from them, but he had turned his head to look at them over his back.   
  
“That’s not really why I came here. Max needed a walk, so I brought him with me, but I’m really here—” he paused, pushing himself up off of the couch to walk over to his jacket. Pinned inside of it was a folder that he unpinned and brought back to the couch. This time, he sat closer to Karen; their thighs were almost touching. He moved their coffees out of the way and spread out the contents of his folder. “—to bring you this. You’ve been too reckless recently, Ma’am, so I did some digging for you. I’m hoping that this will keep you out of trouble for a little while.”   
  
“Frank, you really didn’t have to do—” He took another sip of coffee, shaking his head in disapproval and she rolled her eyes but trailed off, waiting.   
“Don’t give me that ‘you didn’t have to’ bullshit. I know I didn’t have to, and I know you can take care of yourself, but this shit gets dangerous, Ma’am. I don’t want to see you get hurt. There was a man tailing you a couple of days ago, and I took care of that. But hopefully this will help you lay low for a while. You won’t need to go out to do any digging, but you can still write a new article with it and some help from google.” Karen shook her head, but she wasn’t angry. Frank was always trying to keep her safe. Sometimes it was annoying. Sometimes it made her downright furious and it led to the two of them arguing, and then to them talking over one another, which then led to full blown yelling, screaming arguments. She insisted that she could take care of herself, she didn’t need him micromanaging her every move or babysitting her. He would get upset and insist that nobody can get by without a little bit of help. "Everyone needs someone, Karen!" He always used that against her until one day when she asked him, "what about you, Frank?” He had been silent for a long time before saying, "I have you." They fought like that a lot. Not real fights, not really. They were both just so frustrated because they didn't want to reveal just how important they were to each other, or how much they worried about the other. He was just looking out for her because he couldn’t stand to see her get hurt. He had experienced enough loss and she understood, so sometimes, she didn’t mind it. Sometimes it gave her butterflies in her stomach and she felt like she was floating on air because Frank Castle cared about her enough to worry about her and turn into a grumpy, sentimental fool. Today was one of the better days where she didn’t really mind, and she maybe even liked it.   
  
“Thank you, Frank.” She had picked up the pictures and was sorting through them. Frank had even gone through the trouble of making little notes on pink stickies for each picture. He briefly detailed who was in each photo and what was happening. She brushed her fingers absentmindedly over his writing. The letters were dark and messy but legible, pressed hard into the paper. “I really appreciate this.”   
“Does this mean I can expect you to stay out of trouble for at least a little while?”   
  
“I don’t know, Frank… you did leave out a bunch of stuff…” She loved teasing him and watching the way his nose scrunched up like it didn’t when he took that first sip of coffee.   
“Is there any way I could convince you to let me do the rest of the digging and check this out and get back to you?” Karen gave him ‘the look.’ The famous Karen Page ‘you have got to be kidding me’ look. “I didn’t think so, Ma'am.”   
“It just wouldn’t be real. I’ll try to lay low for a little while. No more going out at night or hanging out in bad neighborhoods after dark, but it’s my job to do the digging. Even if it gets a little dangerous. It’s my job and it just—the articles just wouldn’t be authentic if I didn’t do it myself, even though I do really appreciate all of your help and especially all of the leads that you bring me.” Frank just nodded. He understood, he really did. He wouldn’t feel right letting someone else do his ‘job.’ He hadn’t expected her to take his offer for help. He wasn’t really sure what he would have done if she had accepted it. Probably would’ve checked her temperature, he thought, just to make sure she was feeling well.   
“I didn’t think so, Ma’am, but can you blame a guy for trying?”   
  
“No,” she laughed, “If I were you, and you were me, I think I’d probably do the same thing.”   
  
“If you really get it, how about you promise to be more careful and let me help out more?” She gave him ‘the look’ again and flipped him off. He laughed louder and more genuinely that she had ever seen him laugh before, but there was something else there, just for a moment. A slight wince that Karen knew better than she knew the back of her own hand. She reached over and put her hand on his arm. She could feel him tense and usually she would have taken that as a sign and would have released him and given him more space, but this time she didn’t.   
  
“Frank? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He tried to brush her off and play it off as nothing. But then she looked down and the part of his shirt that rested against his side was slick with blood. “Frank Castle! You’re bleeding through your shirt! Stand up! Take that shirt off and let me see it! Get up! Don’t bleed on my couch!” Frank looked amused but got up off of the couch, turning back to make sure that he hadn’t bled on the gray polyester fabric. “Kitchen! Go!” Karen ushered him out the door and into the kitchen, motioning for him to sit in one of the wooden kitchen chairs while she grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet under the sink. She hoped he couldn’t see her hands shaking. Frank eased himself into the chair closest to the refrigerator, wincing. The wooden floor was easy to clean but polyester proved to be more difficult and Karen had already had already spent hours scrubbing a substantial amount of his blood out of the fabric.   
  
“Shirt,” she said impatiently and waited, first aid kit in hand, as he pulled the shirt over his head. Her angry expression softened a little when she saw him wince and she dropped the box on the table and reached over to help ease the shirt over his head and relieve the tension he felt tugging at his wound. When she looked down, the bandage on his abdomen was completely covered in blood. There was no white gauze to be seen, it was all red.   
  
“Damn it.” He whispered. Karen just shook her head, balling up the shirt and tossing it in the empty sink so she could wash it out once she was done patching him up. The first aid kit had been modified a lot. When she had bought it, there hadn’t been much more in there than a few tiny Band-Aids, a roll of gauze that hadn’t even lasted a day, a pack of disposable latex gloves, Neosporin, a few packets of aspirin, and some antibacterial wipes. Her Captain America Band-Aids just weren’t going to cut it.  She’d had to stock it and add a bunch of things. The first on the list was a suture kit because Frank always needed to be stitched up.   
  
“I might need you to lay on the floor,” she said apologetically as she looked at where the wound was. Frank grunted, making his way down to lie on the floor on his back. And then, Karen took off her giant sweatshirt and got to work. She the peeled back the bandage that he had put on it and saw that, of course, Frank had tried to stitch himself up and sometime between then and when Karen had noticed the blood, he had popped his stitches. Blood dripped onto her floor but she didn’t even notice. She discarded the blood-soaked bandage and rooted around in the kit to find the cleansing wipes. “This might hurt.”   
  
“Do what you gotta do, Ma’am. I’ll be fine.” Karen removed the old stitches and cleaned the wound as thoroughly but gently as she could possibly manage. He was reckless enough, she didn’t want to risk him getting an infection just because he hadn’t cared enough to clean it. He tried to sit as still as possible but when she pressed too hard he squirmed and hissed quietly, despite his efforts. Then, she moved to the stitches. She wasn’t the greatest at them. They were nowhere near as neat and professional as Claire’s, but they served their purpose. They were even starting to look better than his, and they had gotten exponentially better since the first set that she had done. She had almost vomited the first time Frank had showed up at her window asking for her help. She had done it and she had managed not to throw up, but it was a miserable night for the both of them. She had dug a bit too deep with the needle, she had pulled a little too hard and they hadn’t been anywhere near pretty, but he hadn’t bled out and that was the most important part.   
  
“What did you do this time?” She always got a little upset when he was hurt. It was natural. She cared about him and didn’t want to see him injured or in danger, but when he didn’t tell her it was worse. She always found out and sometimes she got downright moody. She couldn’t help it. She felt betrayed when she noticed that he was injured and he didn’t say anything, especially when she knew that he needed help and wouldn’t ask for it. Sometimes, she felt like he didn’t trust her and it hurt because she trusted him with her life.  
  
“Got stabbed.”   
  
"No shit." He propped himself up on his elbows as Karen administered the last two stitches and tied and cut off the line of thread. She grabbed a towel soaked in warm water next and lightly dabbed at the broken skin, trying to clean the blood off his side. His eyes fluttered shut, comforted by the warmth of the towel and the feel of her soft, small hand on his side. Without warning, she sprayed the antiseptic on the wound and saw him visibly jump at the sudden cold against his warm skin. She uttered a quiet apology before moving on, but she didn’t look too sorry. Then, she motioned for him to sit up a little farther and started wrapping the gauze and bandages around his abdomen. She had to straddle one of his legs to reach all the way around him, so she kept her head down, her face shielded by a curtain of hair in hopes that she wouldn’t notice how badly she was blushing. He noticed. And she betrayed herself, her fingers sometimes lingering just a moment too long on his skin before quickly moving away to readjust something else or add a bit of tape to keep it secure. It left him touch-starved and he wished that she would let them linger for just a moment longer.  
  
“I’ll go grab you a shirt.” He nodded and watched her walk away. She had crudely wiped most of his blood off of her hands onto the towel, but she still had a smudge of his blood on her forearm, a tiny bit smeared on her cheek, and some smeared down the front of her shirt. She was so desensitized to it all and Frank felt the weight of his shame and guilt. He didn’t want her to live like that, not minding that she literally had a man’s blood on her hands. He sighed, grabbing the bleach and the scrubbing brush from under the sink and when she walked back in with a fresh, blood-free t-shirt in hand he had already started cleaning the blood off her kitchen floor.   
“Almost done,” he grunted before she even got the chance to say anything.   
  
“Thank god. I won’t lie I don’t mind stitching you up but I was so not in the mood to scrub blood off of my floor tonight.” She was less upset after he was patched up and she knew he was going to be okay. She tried to sound breezy and good-humored. She thought, she hoped that he would laugh, but he didn’t. His shoulders tensed and he scrubbed the floor a little harder. She knew that he felt guilty, it was pretty obvious when he got this way. He sometimes got suddenly angry for no reason, not with her but himself, and tried to gently force his way past her and out the door. But the moment she put a hand on his shoulder he would stop dead in his tracks and let out a small breath that sometimes seemed almost like relief. And there he was, the cycle starting again. He was on his hands and knees scrubbing her floor angrily, trying to get his blood off the wood. The muscles in his back contracted as he worked and his shoulder blades jumped under his skin with every movement. It took him a few more minutes to finish his crude, good enough but not quite great job and Karen spent the entire time worrying that his stitches would rip again, but she didn’t say anything. He had already been stabbed, she didn’t want to stress him out any more than he already was. He stood up, wiping his hands awkwardly on his pants, and started pointing to the door. She knew he was going to make up some stupid excuse and try to bail on her so she interrupted him before he could say anything.  
“Here, it’s the best that I’ve got. It’s big on me but it might be a bit small on you.” She threw him an oversized white T-shirt that said, ‘I heart New York.’ He unfolded it and stared at it for a moment before looking back at her, raising his eyebrow. “I know, I know. I’m such a tourist. I bought it from a man on the street for, like, ten dollars on my first day in the city.” She dismissed whatever snide comment that she knew he was waiting to make with a wave of her hand, grabbed the bleach, and started putting everything away. She looked back at him as he pulled the shirt on and she had to force herself to turn away. The shirt fit until it came to his arms. Karen and Frank were roughly the same height but the shirt was a little small because Karen didn’t have to accommodate for large muscles when buying her clothes, and the sight of his biceps was a lot for Karen to take in. The small sleeves trying to restrain his muscles made his arms look even bigger. Karen had to force herself to turn away and focus on his bloody shirt sitting in her sink before she said or did something stupid.  
  
She stood at the sink for a few minutes, rinsing the blood out of his black t-shirt, watching as the red swirled down the drain. It was bizarre, something Karen never thought she would say, but watching it wash away was almost comforting in a sick, twisted way. When she finished, she rung it out and stuck it in a large Ziploc freezer bag and set it on the counter for him to take with him when he left. Frank came up behind her a moment later, startling her so badly that she jumped. He was so damn quiet. Some days she considered securing a bell to him so that he didn’t accidentally scare the hell out of her every six seconds, but she didn’t think he would go for it.   
  
“Stand still.” His voice was low and rough and Karen could feel her heart nearly beating out of her chest. He was standing close, closer than he needed to be but she didn’t step back or shy away. She knew he wouldn’t follow her if she did. “You have blood on you.” He cupped her cheek gently with his left hand and with his right, he delicately dabbed away the blood. It was so crazy, Karen thought, that hands that shot, killed and beat people daily could be so gentle. When he was done wiping away the blood—his blood—he stood there for a moment, her face still in his hand, still looking up at him intently. He shook his head a tiny bit, a motion so small that she almost didn’t catch it, and diverted his attention to the smudge of blood on her arm. He dropped his hand from her cheek and she sighed at the loss, immediately feeling the cold air on her face. He held out his hand and let her place her arm in his open palm. He folded the towel to find a clean spot, and started wiping the blood from her arm. He stole a quick glance at her face after a few seconds only to find that she was already looking up at him through her lashes, and for a moment his breath caught in his throat. He returned his eyes to her arm and for the second time that night, he prayed he wasn’t blushing. With one last swipe of the towel, her arm was completely clean and then he was gone in an instant, crossing the room again to take a sip of his coffee. He stood with his back toward her and she fidgeted awkwardly, wiping the dampness from the wet towel away from her cheek and her arm.   
  
“I think I should— “  
  
“I want you to stay—” They both spoke at the same time and Frank allowed himself to trail off to hear what she had to say. He was always scared of overstepping boundaries, whether they were his or Karen’s, and this time he was sure that he had overstepped more than a couple. He was trying to back out and minimize the damage and she knew it, but he always gave her the chance to reason with him. “For at least a little while. Please.”   
  
“Ma’am, I— “   
  
“Frank, the day we met you asked me to stay. I knew nothing about you other than the fact that you were a murderer strapped to a hospital bed and I stayed. Now, I’m asking you to stay.” And just like that, he couldn’t say no. He nodded and poured his cup out into the sink.   
  
“Coffee’s gone cold. I’ll make a fresh pot.”   
  
“I’m going to get changed,” She gestured toward her bedroom and turned to walk away but she didn’t catch him watching her leave the kitchen. She had him wrapped around her little finger and she didn’t even know it, she couldn’t see how far gone he was. She scratched Max on the head on her way past him and opened her bedroom door. She threw her sweatshirt on her bed before making her way to the bathroom to grab a makeup wipe. She removed her makeup and rinsed her face off, feeling the weight of her day wash away.   
  
She left the bathroom and she was about to step back into her bedroom when the sound of Frank singing drifted softly down the hall. She didn’t recognize the song, but his voice was nice. It was low and rough but sweet and lovely at the same time. She felt the butterflies in her stomach fluttering once more and made her way back into her bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. She opted for a pair of gray sweatpants and the same oversized black sweatshirt. She left her bloody shirt on the bathroom counter after spraying it with what was probably way too much Spray 'n Wash, praying that the blood would come out.   
  
Karen made her way back to the kitchen where she could smell fresh coffee. As she got closer she could hear that Frank was humming now instead of singing. It sounded kind of like one of the catchy songs that Karen was always hearing on the radio but she had a hard time imagining Frank listening to anything in the top 40 of the pop charts. When she opened the door to the kitchen, she almost collided with him, as he tried to make his way through the door with two cups of coffee in his hands. She jumped to avoid running into him and held the door open to let him through.   
  
“Sorry, Ma’am. Didn’t hear you coming.” He gestured back to the couch and she assumed her usual spot. Frank handed her the green mug and sat down next to her. Their thighs were almost touching again. Over the last few months everything was becoming easier between the two of them, and the boundaries were blurring. Karen felt warm, safe, and cozy, and she knew that it wasn’t because of the hot coffee cup that she was holding between her hands. She tucked her feet underneath her and angled her body toward him, leaning her shoulder into the cushions and her back to her desk. They were both silent for a moment, drinking their coffee and enjoying each other’s company. The only sound in her apartment, other than the constant city noise drifting through the closed windows, was Max snoring loudly in the corner.   
  
“Why did you ask me to stay, Ma’am?”  
  
“You make good coffee.” She smirked behind her cup. He didn’t notice but he didn’t need to, to know that she was teasing him.   
  
“Anyone can make this shit. It’s instant. Really. Why’d you ask me to stay?” This time he did look at her. His gaze was intense and unwavering, looking her directly in the eyes.   
  
“I worry about you, Frank. You’re an idiot and you’re reckless… and… I worry.” Frank laughed, but Karen was taken aback. It wasn’t a normal laugh. It wasn’t the laugh of someone who thought something was genuinely funny. It was a sad, hurt kind of laugh, the kind of laugh when someone is laughing, choking, and trying not to cry all rolled into one. He was staring up at the ceiling desperately trying to contain the tears. Karen was worried she had struck a nerve and she played with the ends of her hair anxiously, examining his bruised face.   
  
“My—uh— my wife, My Maria… she used to tell me the same thing. Just like you did. That same way. And she made that same face when she said it, too. That look that says ’God damn you’re an idiot, and I don’t know where you’d be without me… but I still worry.’ I… uh… God. I just—” He paused, breathing out sharply and Karen could see that he was tearing up a little bit. His fist was clenched and he set the mug down on the coffee table, running his newly freed hands over his eyes and down his race, resting on the back of his neck for a moment. “I’m sorry... I—” He pressed his palms against his eyes for a moment, wincing because of the bruises before standing up and crossing the room quickly. He grabbed his jacket before Karen interrupted him.   
  
“Frank.” Her voice was soft and sympathetic and one word, just his name, was enough to make him freeze.  
  
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I should go. I—” He was so flustered that he couldn’t even finish a single sentence. He just shook his head and went back to putting his jacket on.   
  
“Frank, please. Sit back down. You’re hurt and you’re upset. You shouldn’t leave now, it would be stupid.” He faltered for a split second while pulling his arm through the sleeve and Karen knew that she had won. “Come on Frank, please.” He pressed his forehead against the cold wooden door and took a deep breath. He couldn’t help feeling the pain of losing his family ever time, especially when a li  
  
ttle moment like that surprised him out of nowhere. Most people called it a punch to the gut, but he knew what a punch to the gut felt like and this was way worse than that, so much worse. It was like he was watching it happen all over again.   
He pulled his jacket back off and tried to hang it on the hook but it fell to the floor. He spared it a glance and left it there, dragging his feet back to the couch. He sat back down, putting a little more distance between them. Karen scooted back a little, not wanting to overcrowd him or make him uncomfortable. She just looked at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. He was sitting there breathing heavily with his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. She opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it.   
  
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. It’s still… difficult for me sometimes.” His voice broke and Karen’s heart contracted in sympathetic pain.   
  
“You don’t have to apologize, Frank. You’re allowed to have feelings. You’re allowed to love your family.” He nodded. He looked just as floored and helpless as he had in that hospital bed when she had told him that she was sure his family loved him. He nodded a second time, paused, and then a third. He stole a glance at her and then looked at his coffee, picking it up to find that it was nearly completely empty.   
  
“Damn.” He downed the last mouthful and moved to set it back down but Karen held out her hand.   
  
“I’ll grab you some more. I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere.”   
  
“Thank you, Ma’am.” She took both of their cups and nudged the kitchen door open with her shoulder. She filled both cups, running a hand through her hair with a sigh. She didn’t know how to deal with this all, not really. There was no guide book on how to console your vigilante friend after the loss of their family, and even if there was, Karen wasn’t so sure normal methods would work on Frank. A book on how to cheer up Frank Castle would only be two pages, she thought. Each page would only have one word. The first page: dogs. The second page: coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. That’s why Karen was standing in her kitchen as the clock ticked closer and closer to midnight, filling both of their mugs with his favorite coffee. She had gone to the store and she bought it just for him. Just because he loved it and she wanted to do something nice for him. She had put it in the cabinet next to her favorite, and told him to use his whenever he was over. He hadn’t listened at first, but she had trained him into the habit. She was even starting to like it more than the one that she called her favorite and sometimes made Frank’s even when he wasn’t there.  
  
She added milk and sugar to her cup before returning to Frank. She handed him his cup and they sat there again, not really saying anything until Karen broke the silence.   
  
“Frank, if you need to talk about them, I’m always here to listen. If you want. I’d love to hear stories about Frank, Lisa, and your wife.” He lifted the cup to his lips and wrinkled his nose at the first sip like he always did.   
  
“You don’t have to do that.”   
  
“Do what, Frank? Be a friend? Listen?”   
  
“No. Pity. Stop that shit. I do not want your pity, Ma’am.”   
  
“It’s not pity.”   
“Well, it’s bullshit. Pity, bullshit, whatever you want to call it. I don’t want it. You don’t want to listen to stories about my family.”  
  
“Frank, I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. I’m not an idiot. That day… at the hospital when we first met, when I shoved the picture in your face and yelled at you, and then you asked me to stay. I wasn’t sure if you would remember, really. They said you were on a lot of painkillers and other medications, what with multiple broken ribs, countless fractures, broken bones, and the fact that you took a drill to the foot... And a few bullet holes, too. Anyway, you remember and that’s not the point. I hoped you’d remember because I actually enjoyed that. Hearing about Lisa’s dinosaurs and Frank Jr’s truck and hiding cookies in the piano bench it—it makes me feel better to see you remembering them and talking about them. It made me—it gave me hope that, like them, maybe he won’t be forgotten either.”   
  
He gave her a look, incredibly confused, his eyebrows pulled down and knitted together. She knew she had slipped. She knew she had revealed why it meant so much to her that he dealt with his feelings and the loss of him family properly and talked about it like he needed to. It was why she understood.  
  
She felt her face flush and heard her heartbeat in her ears, faster suddenly. She tried to maintain her composure. This was about him and his family and processing his guilt, she wasn’t trying to steal the moment. Maybe, she hoped, if she pretended it was nothing then he would believe it. Only a handful of moments passed in complete silence before he spoke, but to Karen it felt like ages.   
  
“Who did you lose?” Frank’s voice was so soft and genuine. He was looking back at her again, really looking at her not just looking in her direction. She could see the sympathy in his eyes and it was refreshing because he wasn’t looking at her like the poor little girl who lost her brother. He was looking at her like he understood, like he wished he could do something to help or take that pain away.   
  
“Don’t you already know?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“I thought you ‘looked into me.’ You know, to make sure that I’m not a bad guy. That I didn’t do something to 'make it onto your list.'” She was teasing him, trying to shy away from the subject and he knew it. If they had been talking about anything else he would have called her on it, but he didn’t want to force her to talk about anything she didn’t want to, especially not something like this. He knew what that was like. He never wanted to do that to her.   
  
“I—uh—I actually didn’t. I checked for a criminal record, but that’s it. A buddy of mine actually did it for me, looking into your past. I didn’t ask him to. I actually asked him not to. He told me he found something but just asked me if I wanted to know. He, uh, handed me a folder one night. Had your name on that little tab in the corner and all. Wasn’t too thick, just a few pieces of paper. I didn’t even open it. I asked him what it was about, he said your past. So, I asked him if you’d done something. Anything that would put you on my radar. He said no, nothin' like that. So, I handed it back to him and asked him to put it away. I watched him throw the papers into the fire one by one. Just a couple of newspaper articles and what looked like an obituary. I figured if Micro didn’t think it was bad enough to put you on my radar then it was something personal and if you’d wanted me to know, you’d tell me yourself. I’m guessing that this is it. If you don’t want me to know, you don’t have to tell me.” Karen was shocked. Floored. Taken aback. She knew he would understand, he had watched his family die and then had been forced to relive it in court and hear about it every day and have pictures shoved in his face. He was forced to talk about it and tell everyone how it really happened. Of course, he would be sympathetic. Of course, he would respect her right to privacy. And yet she was shocked because she just assumed he already knew. A news articles about it popped up with a single google search of her name. It didn’t even take real digging, it was like the third result. She had practically memorized it, she had looked at it so many times..   
  
It made sense though. She was silent for a moment longer and Frank nodded, taking her silence to mean that she didn’t want to tell him.  
  
“I respect that, Ma’am.”  
  
“No,” she started, not at all sure of how she had been planning on finishing that sentence. He picked up his coffee again and took another sip. That damn Scooby Doo mug. She was still struggling to find words, opening and closing her mouth like someone had hit the mute button. He placed a gentle hand over hers and looked her in the eyes.  
  
“I’m going to grab another cup,” he showed her the empty inside of his coffee mug, “then, I’ll be right back. And, if you want to, you can tell me. I’ll just give you a minute to think.” Karen smiled and nodded. It was exactly what she needed. She wanted to tell him, she decided. It was an important part of who she was and if anyone could understand it would be Frank Castle.   
  
Karen watched Frank disappear behind the kitchen door and she took a deep breath. She took another long drink of coffee. It was way too late for caffeine and she knew it but she didn’t care. Her late-night coffees with Frank were what kept her going sometimes, just knowing that one night he would be in her apartment when she got there with a fresh pot and her favorite cup in hand, waiting for her. She cared about him so much, she didn’t want to hide this part of herself anymore. She had always hidden it for fear of being pitied or looked at as the girl who couldn’t move on, but she knew Frank wasn’t like that. He would understand, and it was time to stop hiding it. And she hoped that maybe, if she opened up then he would too.   
Frank walked back in and resumed his spot next to her, his little smile was back. Instead of sitting next to her, he sat on the cushion next to hers with his back to the arm rest, angling his body toward hers. Her legs were curled under her and he sat with one knee pressed into the back of the couch, leg draping across the cushions, and his foot dangling off the edge. Her knees were pressed up against the front of his leg and she realized that other than the time in front of the landlord, it was the most physical contact that he had ever initiated. There had been one night when they had both been very drunk, but it didn’t count as initiating physical contact if the other person simply fell on you by accident.   
  
“I want to tell you and I want you to know because I trust you.” She paused to let her train of thought catch up to the words coming out of her mouth. “I just—I don’t talk about it much, so I don’t know what to say, really.”  
  
“That’s okay, Ma’am. It’s your call. I’ve got all night.” She nodded, wishing she could put into words how much his patience meant to her.   
  
“My brother.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper and he leaned closer to hear her better. She grabbed one of the decorative pillows and hugged it to her chest. “I lost my brother a few years back.”  
  
   
“What’s his name?” Frank placed his hand on her knee, she could feel the warmth of his palm through the fabric of her pants and it was comforting. He knew just what to say, just what to do to show her that he cared. The first question out of his mouth wasn’t insensitive, it wasn’t callous. He didn’t want to know about Kevin Page, the tragedy, he wanted to know about Karen’s brother Kevin.   
  
“Kevin.” She breathed out a dejected laugh. “I know, Kevin and Karen Page. Our parents were very original.”   
“Ma’am, my son is named after me. I’m nobody to criticize unoriginal names.” She searched his face for a moment, there was a small smile, but still no pity. It was relieving. Since the accident, not a day had gone by where she could talk about him without drowning in everyone’s pity. It was one of the reasons that she had felt trapped in Vermont, why she wanted to go all the way to New York where nobody knew or cared who Karen Page was.  
  
“Well, I’m sure Frank Jr loves being named after you. You’re his dad. Kevin and I, we loved having names so similar. We were close… really close. He was younger but just by a little bit and he was always so tall that we looked the same age. Everyone thought we were twins and we loved it. We did just about everything together. Karen and Kevin, a packaged deal.” She wiped a couple of silent tears from her eyes, a tiny chuckle escaping with them. The tears were starting to fall faster. Frank could see her getting lost in the memories for just a moment, a real smile on her face. But then her face shifted and it took everything in him not to reach out and pull her into his arms. Her mouth went thin, her eyebrows contracted, her face crumbled and a strangled sob escaped from her throat. Max was up in an instant, running over to Karen and resting his head on her leg. He had all of the bravery that Frank wished he had in that moment. Max nudged her thigh with his nose and licked her leg, obviously stricken with concern. Karen was still crying but smiled and leaned down to give him a kiss on top of his head.   
  
“Maxie, you’re such a good boy.” She turned her body to look behind her and scooted forward to make room behind her back. She patted the empty space between her and the arm of the couch. Max gave her an uncertain look before jumping up and walking in circles, settling down with his head pressed against her. Both Karen and Frank had been too busy watching the dog to realize that upon scooting forward she was very nearly in his lap, but there were no other spots to sit in the living room, and Frank didn’t move. Karen looked up at him with tears still in her eyes as if asking permission, making sure she wasn't overstepping any boundaries.  There wasn’t a way in hell that he would have let himself make her move back even an inch.   
“A packaged deal, huh?” He turned the attention back to Kevin and she smiled through her tears.   
  
“Joined at the hip. That’s what everyone used to say. We were always getting into trouble, always each other’s best friend…” she paused for a long moment. “I lost my best friend that day... It was my fault.” Her eyes squeezed shut and she covered her mouth with her hand as if she was trying to muffle the sobs that were starting to rack her entire body. She shook violently with each one and Frank could feel his heart breaking. He reached out a hand, placing it on her shoulder to rub small circles on it like he used to when Maria was upset.   
“Don’t talk like that, Karen. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” He brushed a falling tear from her cheek. She shook her head in disagreement.   
  
“It was supposed to be me, Frank. He had just gotten his permit. He didn’t even want to drive home, he wasn’t even supposed to. But I was tired. I’d been up all night doing homework and I didn’t want to drive. I begged him and he didn’t want to, he was still too nervous to but he agreed. He wasn't supposed to. He didn’t want to!” She struggled to catch her breath the entire time, stuttering over her words. Her face was wet with tears and her cheeks were bright red. She hated to cry in front of anyone but it was the last thing on her mind, she was comfortable with Frank. Her hand went up to tug at her hair—an old habit that still resurfaced when she was upset—but he untangled her hand and smoothed down the displaced strands, holding her hand in his larger one. “I still don’t even know what happened. I was—I don’t even—I think I was dozing off in the passenger seat and I—I woke up and a truck was coming at us. A black one. I don’t—We were on Route 12 from the Hill Road exit ramp off the 89. He came at us. It didn’t look like an accident a-and Kevin panicked and we went off the road into the fence and into the embankment. I don’t even remember it but they said they found me there crying next to him screaming. I was screaming. ‘I can’t go on. I can’t go on.’” Her eyes were staring and blank like she was looking at him, but she wasn’t really seeing him, she was seeing right through him. A moment later, she looked up at him again, seeing him and not her brother. “I killed my brother. It should have been me. Oh god. It should have been me…” Her voice trailed off and the sobs started again, she gasped violently with each one. She was so beside herself that she was hyperventilating and shuddering for air. Her skin was getting paler by the moment and Frank feared she would pass out if she carried on the same way. She could feel her hands start to tingle and her head starting to swim, getting dangerously close to blacking out. He placed his hands on her back, guiding her toward him gently enough to allow her to break free if she wanted to, but she didn’t. She welcomed his touch and fell into his arms, sobbing and shaking with exhaustion. They stayed like that for a while, his back pressed against the arm rest and her body collapsed against his chest, in his lap, with his arms around her. With one hand, he held her head, his fingers tangled in her hair, his face pressed into her hair. His other hand was rubbing up and down her back in a soothing manner. He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, only that his left leg was asleep and that she was starting to calm down, only gasping for air occasionally. He wished he could take it all away, the pain that she felt. He had felt it too. He had spent months thinking over and over that he could have done more, that he could have saved his family if he had moved faster or been smarter. Guilt was his daily companion and it seemed it was hers too.  
  
“It was not your fault, Karen.” She shook her head from where it rested under his chin.   
  
"You wouldn't know, Frank. You weren't there."  
  
"No, I wasn't. But what happened to you, what happened to your brother was no more your fault than what happened to my family was mine." She pushed herself off of his chest, wiping away tears, and looking up at him.   
  
"I know what you're trying to do."  
  
"Good. Then you're already halfway there. Play along."  
  
"No. It's not—"  
  
"It's not what? The same?"  
  
”It's not the same." She was insistent. "I asked him to drive. It killed him. If I hadn't asked him, it would have been me." He wiped a couple more tears away from her puffy eyes.  
  
"I suggested Maria skip work and the kids skip school so that we could go to the park and ride the carousel. Does that make what happened to them my fault?" Karen hiccupped and sucked in a sharp breath. She stared at him as if she was trying to figure out if he was lying to console her.  
  
"But there were—" He raised his eyebrow at her. He knew the best way to calm her down was to reason with her and try to make her think rationally about the situation. "No, it wasn't your fault. You didn't pull the trigger. You didn't hurt them." Frank nodded.   
  
"Exactly. You didn't kill your brother, Karen. You didn't hit the car, you didn't make him swerve. You didn't do that. It wasn't you." Karen's face was so flushed. Her cheeks were splotchy and pink and her eyes were bloodshot but damn she looked beautiful. Frank couldn't help but notice and he hated himself for it. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You didn't do this, Karen." She looked down at her hands for a moment before looking at him with her bright blue eyes.   
  
"Then why does it feel like I did?"  
  
"Because you're human. We're creatures of guilt, Karen." He could see her sobering up by the minute. The tears were becoming few and far between, but she was still obviously upset. She opened her mouth before closing it and shaking her head. "Lay back down. Take a minute."   
  
"But what are you—"  
  
"I'm holding on. I'm using two hands and I'm never letting go." Recognition flashed across her face for a brief moment, realizing that he was quoting back what he had said in the diner. She nodded, a small smile pulling at her cheeks. And Frank knew he was blushing. Damn him. The punisher does blush after all.   
  
It was more physical contact than they had ever had, but this warranted it. Usually he shied away from anyone's touch following the incident in Central Park, but he was drawn to her touch. Holding her, comforting her, it felt right. He leaned back against the arm rest and motioned for her to follow. She curled down under his chin again, resting against his chest. She could smell gunpowder, deodorant, and blood along with her own fabric softener. It was a heavenly combination. His chest was firm and warm and Karen calmed down quickly.   
  
"That mug was his."  
  
"The green one you love?" He smiled even though she couldn't see.  
  
"No, an old friend gave me that one. Kevin gave me the Scooby Doo mug, the one you always use." Frank's smile faded in an instant. He craned his neck trying to look at her face so she sat up again. He didn't look angry per se but he looked almost offended, Karen though, like he thought she was insane.   
  
"That mug," he pointed to where it sat on the coffee table, "was a gift from your brother?" She nodded. "Why in hell have you been letting me use it?"   
  
"When you first saw it, when you first picked it up, I was going to grab it from you and tell you not to touch it. I didn't want you to think it was just any random mug and break it by accident or something, but then I saw the way you looked at it. You were so… gentle with it. You… you looked at it how I always hoped everyone did, like it had meaning and importance. And then, you told me about Lisa and I knew it meant something to you, too. I knew you wouldn't break it, but I knew if I told you what it meant to me, you wouldn't use it.”  
  
"You're damn right. I’m not going to use it.”  
  
"No, Frank, that's not the point. The point is, I want you to use it. It means something to you just like it means something to me. I have plenty of things from my brother. I have things locked away that nobody is allowed to touch. Hell, I could name ten things in this room alone, but that mug means something to you. It was one of the first times you opened up to me and told me about your family because you wanted to, not because you were being forced to. That means something to me. I like it when you tell me about your family. I'd love to hear more about them if you wouldn't mind. It's nice."   
  
"Ma'am, it’s from your—"  
  
"Kevin would be excited to know that 'The Punisher' was using his mug. Don't worry about it, Frank." He opened his mouth but decided he didn't want to argue anymore so he didn't say anything. She rested her head against his chest once more. It was something she had imagined and dreamed about, but never thought would happen. And as it turned out, he had also imagined and dreamed about it, too.   
  
"I'm sorry that I lost it. I know I'm not easy to deal with when I'm like that. My mother had told me a thousand times." Her voice slightly hoarse from crying and he was still rubbing circles on her back.  
  
”I wouldn’t have offered to listen if I didn’t mean it. I’m not an idiot."   
  
"Frank Castle," she pushed herself up to look him in the eyes. She smiled again, the red puffy skin around her eyes crinkling, teasing him. "Using my own words against me? I thought you were better than that." She laughed when he sat up and wrapped his arms around her, grabbing her and pulling her down to hug her against him.   
  
"I'm always here to listen, Karen." He paused, thinking for a moment. "Let's make a deal. We're both going to share a little bit more from now on. I want to know more about this wonderful brother of yours and I'll tell you more about my family. I think you're right, I think talking about them will help. It will be good for both of us."   
  
"Sorry... can you repeat that?" Frank opened his mouth to say it again, a little confused. "Did you just say.... that you think I'm right? Let the record show that Frank Castle just admitted that I am right." He laughed out loud and squeezed her gently.   
  
"Shut up, Page," he whispered fondly, pressing a small kiss to the top of her head. After a few minutes, Karen spoke again, softer this time. He could tell that she was getting tired, and he wanted to carry her to her bed, but he couldn't coerce his exhausted muscles to move an inch.  
  
"I think you're right. I think this will be good for both of us. I'm glad I told you."   
  
"I'm glad you told me, too. I'm glad you trust me, Karen." He called her Karen again, not Ma’am. Karen. It was so small, but it gave her butterflies and she snuggled deeper into his arms. At that point, there was no fooling anyone. Frank pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over the two of them, settling down into the couch. "Did you lock the door when you came home?"  
  
"Mmhm."  
  
“Deadbolt too? And the chain?”  
  
“Yes, Frank.”  
  
“And you set the alarm?” She was already half asleep but he was satisfied by her small nod.  
  
"Night, Frank."  
  
"Good night, Karen."  
  
The three of them, Frank, Karen, and Max all slept on the couch that night. Karen and Frank curled up together, Karen lying on his chest with his arms wrapped around her. Max started out the night at the end of the couch, but when Frank woke up the next morning, it wasn't just the beautiful blonde lying on top of him. Max has sneakily inched up further in the night so that he was curled up, lying in between Frank's legs with his head on his thigh. Frank was happier than he had been since he woke up in that hospital bed. He hadn't thought he could ever feel happy again after the loss of his family. It was a different type of happiness, but he was happy. He was truly, genuinely happy and quickly falling deeper and deeper in love with the woman sleeping in his arms. He kissed the top of her head again and reached for the remote, turning the TV volume low so that he could hear it but not loud enough to wake Karen. She had been overworking herself so much, she deserved to sleep in on a Saturday, so he turned on an old comedy that he used to watch with his children and settled in, contentedly waiting for Karen to wake up so that they could make breakfast. They always made breakfast when he stayed over and he loved it even though he constantly had to run interference to keep her from sneaking every scrap on her plate to Max. He was convinced that she was trying to make his dog fat, even if it killed her, but Frank Castle was a happy man again and he had Karen Page to thank for that.


End file.
